In The Cold Light Of Morning
by clasigirlcs
Summary: How long is long enough for you to tell someone you love them? SSHG.


Disclaimer: The wonderful characters that I have played with do not belong to me…They have merely been borrowed off the great genius herself (aka Joanne Kathleen Rowling or Mrs. Neil Murray to the patriarchs among you!). Please don't sue; I have nothing to offer besides laddered tights and broken dreams (and my fathers fortune).

* * *

"Severus?" 

"Yes, my sweet?"

"I love you."

The couple were lying in a tangle of limbs and slightly damp sheets that smelt of sex and stolen moments. It was a cold winter morning, but the heat being emitted by the languid bodies drove the chill away.

She rolled over to face him, to see his reaction. '_Was it too soon? Was he ready? Hell, was she ready_'

She didn't doubt that she loved him, that little bubble of…something that had taken residence in her chest for the past few weeks had told her so.

But knowing that you loved someone and telling them so were so very different matters altogether. And then having that someone accept that love and letting her know that perhaps, just maybe, there was a chance of returning that love in the not too distant future?

That was what terrified her. Hermione Granger got what she wanted. Perfect NEWT scores? Check. Admission to study Arithmancy at the world's most prestigious wizarding university? Check. Friends who loved her and whom she loved back? That bridge was slightly harder to cross, but yes, she believed that she had achieved all she wanted and required in that part of her life; so check.

But this sort of love, this all consuming, sharing, adoring, trusting, maybe forever sort of love? Not check - most definitely not check. It scared her, that there were things in this world she didn't have control over; things that affected her in this way. Actually, it didn't scare her, it _unsettled_ her. That half of this situation was fully in the hands of another person…but that's what love is, right? Trusting that other person enough to not hurt her, to catch her when she made this great big leap of faith. And so, Hermione leapt.

She had weighed the pros and cons of admitting her love to Severus a long time ago. She had agonised over how to tell him this, wanting to make it perfect, hell, she had even thought about the food that they would eat at their favourite resteraunt, before they returned to Severus' inherited country house to shag, wanting to make sure that this was perfect too.

All this was inconsequential, she knew, but she would to anything to feel more in control…but now the moment of truth had come. The moment that the perfect melanzane parmigiana, the perfect Pinot Grigio, the perfect position from the karma sutra, the perfectly buffed skin, the perfectly done hair…the moment that all this led up to had come. The moment when all she could do was stare into the eyes of her lover and wait.

* * *

…"I love you." 

'_This? She was admitting this? She was saying this? _Well, she did say that she loved you, you fool._ But how? How could she love me?_'

Severus Snape was a pragmatic man; he knew that he couldn't be loved and that he couldn't love in return. After all, he didn't let anyone get close to him, didn't allow anyone to see past the cold shell and into the mess inside. He was scared. Scared that if he did let someone see him - really, truly see him - then that someone would either laugh in his face or run away screaming like a banshee.

The last person he had ever let in had hurt him so fully, betrayed him so deeply and had left him with such thick, impenetrable scar tissue, that he had erected stone walls around his heart…and then grew ivy on these stone walls and allowed flowers and plants and animals to take up habitation at the base of the wall.

So he wouldn't let anyone in again, simple as that. Albus Dumbledore was another issue all together, he wasn't let in, but somehow managed to worm his way. '_Yes, but Albus Dumbledore is a meddlesome fool, and anyway, there is no way in all the nine circles of hell that I would ever have sex with Albus Dumbledore._'

But back to the point in hand, Severus Snape could not be loved; it was almost a magically proven fact. Hah, he would go down in the history books, along with Herpo the Foul, creator of the basilisk and Wilfred Elphick '_What the hell kind of idiot gets himself gored to death by an African Erumpent?_' And yet here was Hermione Granger, doing the impossible, '_yet again_' and looking deep into his eyes with a mixture of worry, trust, and post orgasmic bliss plastered all over her face after telling him that she loved him.

How she managed to get herself in his bed, in his arms and in his heart was a mystery to Severus. She had come to him that fateful night when Voldemort had finally been beaten, she had come to him, told him that she had been looking for him and then smiled that smile of hers. She had told him that now was the time for new beginnings and that she wanted to begin the rest of her life with a clean slate…without a little voice in her head forever reminding her of her longings. She had told him that she felt for him, that she had felt for him ever since they had started working on her seventh year project, and that those feelings had intensified when they fought together on the battle field, when she had protected him when he fell and when he had saved her life.

Severus, of course, had laughed at her, told her that relief, alcohol and hormones was a very potent cocktail and that she should be on her way and trip right into Potter or Weasley's bed. She had looked slightly hurt then, slightly battered down, but being the stubborn Gryffindor she was, she tried a new tact, a new approach, a much more…direct approach. And he let her.

He let her sashay up to him, those divine hips of hers swaying slightly, enticing him. He let her place down her Screaming Orgasm '_her Screaming what? – _how_ does the bookworm even _know_ that word, let alone be able to _drink_ one?_' on the leather-topped desk in the study of number 12 grimmauld place. He let her place her hands on either side of his face; he let her look deep into his eyes to search through his soul, finally finding that glint of desire he had squashed down for the past year. He let her smile slightly, not smirk, but smile a small, contented, _yippee!_ smile. He let her thank him, he let her tell him that it was an honour to work beside him this past year and he let her bring her face close to his, bringing her mouth a hair's breadth away from his. And then he stopped letting her.

He started doing. He went that extra hair's breadth, leant in and kissed her. He enjoyed the way she let out a slight whimper as she found that connection she had sought for so long. He then tentatively brought his tongue up and pressed against her lips, seeking entrance. He basked in her warmth as his tongue entered her mouth; tasting her, finding a blend of alcohol, milk, a slightly bitter haven't-brushed-my-teeth-in-a-while taste and then something that was uniquely Hermione; something that he tasted no matter what she had eaten or how long it had been since she had brushed her teeth.

He then felt her tongue probing too, and before long they were meshed together; their tongues fighting for dominance, their bodies engaged in their own unique dance of seduction, desire, and sex. He brought his hands up to her body, caressing her curves, simply feeling her. He felt a desire he hadn't felt for years, a desire that only came when he was standing in front of willing, feminine flesh.

That thought made him feel guilty, that he thought of her as flesh. After all she wasn't just a body to him, she was a mind above everything else. He had grown to adore that quick thinking, witty mind of hers, had enjoyed being challenged and resisted every step of the way during those long discussions they had while waiting for the potion to brew.

Hell, he had even missed the discussions themselves, had mourned the loss of that mind that had managed to stimulate him when all others had failed, and now…now he was being offered the chance to have her again, not just as a student whom he conversed twice a week with, but as a lover. Someone with whom he could truly connect, both mentally and physically. Someone who would love him and who he could love in return. She could be that someone (at this thought, Severus shuddered, never thinking that he, the feared overgrown bat of the dungeons could possess such sugar sweet thoughts. Thinking that if this was what Hermione had led him to then she was pure evil incarnate for dragging him out of his comfortable nest of depression, despondency and Odgen's fire whiskey and dragging him into a bright pink, fluffy, saccharine world where (horror of horrors) affection was the name of the game. But then again, no matter how uncharacteristic Severus felt, no matter how outraged he was for having these feelings forced upon him, he was glad and hopeful that maybe he would have that life that always seemed so out of reach, so far away).

And so here she was, three weeks later, three glorious weeks that were filled with twenty-five parties he had been dragged along to, ninety-eight units of alcohol that he had imbibed, thirty-five occurrences of sexual intercourse (twenty-four fucks and eleven slow shags) and one beautiful Hermione.

That one beautiful Hermione was currently lying in front of him, devoid of any clothes, just looking into his eyes. And he looked back. They looked for a while, peacefully calm on the outside, but with panicking minds on the inside. '_What if he doesn't love me? What if he rejects me? How could she love me? It's…not right, I can't let her, I'll just disappoint her and hurt both of us in the process. I never should have let her in. Some spy you are Severus Snape, you've let this eighteen year old girl into your heart, you've let her tear through that scar tissue and if she leaves then maybe that wound will never heal._''

"Severus, say something," said Hermione, her voice betraying her state of panic.

'_I love you_.' "Hermione, I…" he trailed of nervously, not knowing what to say, how to express this tsunami of warmth that had washed over him, or how to let the water wash away his fear and mistrust of old.

'_Get a grip man! Tell her. Tell her how you feel…they may not be masculine thoughts but I promise you will feel a lot more masculine after having admitted them and less like some deer caught in the…what was it? A deer caught in the headlights? Lord knows where these muggles find their weird expressions._' "Hermione I'm scared." '_So much for masculine._'

* * *

'_He's what? He's scared? What the hell kind of answer is that? _You know, you're scared too. _Yes but I…I have a right to be!_ So does he._ No he doesn't, he is supposed to be a man and suck it up and say that he loves me too. _Oh, for God's sake! If your mother heard you talking like this, then she would have a heart attack at how un feminist her daughter is._ Ok, so he's scared, and so am I. Right, got that…now what?_' 

After 30 seconds of silence and absolute lack of thought she came out with a slightly weak: "I'm scared too."

* * *

'_Ok…so at least she didn't run away screaming like a banshee. You know, you could do what Albus has been nagging you to do for these past seventeen years and actually tell the truth, let a person know how you feel._' Severus considered this and realised that, for the first time, he didn't abandon this possibility. He realised that he would be willing to tell her how he felt, he would be willing to open the flood gates and endure the uncertain future, as long as he had Hermione at his side. He wondered what she was feeling, whether she actually was scared or was simply being nice. No, she wouldn't do that. She would be honest…but then what could she be scared of? Hermione Granger couldn't be scared of love; after all, she had more love in her little finger than most people had in their whole body. 

She had accepted him, body and soul. She had accepted his scar-ridden body and his scar ridden, Death Eater past. She had told him that he was beautiful and he believed her. He truly did, he felt it too; especially when she writhed beneath his body, screaming his name through her orgasm. He felt it when she pressed herself against him after they had both come down from their planes of ecstasy.

And he had felt it most of all the one time she made breakfast wearing his shirt at his country house; the night after the ministry of magic ball. She had smiled at him with her soft lips and doe eyes, her hair tousled. After placing their food onto the table, she had positioned herself in his lap and kissed him thoroughly before proceeding to feed them both. He was amazed that she would want to be so domestic and intimate with him; that she would truly want him and not just the sex. He could understand that. He figured that teenage girls had their fantasies and maybe her fantasy involved him and a lot of sex. But having breakfast together is not a fantasy, it's a dream. It was what he had dreamed of the night before, and here she was fulfilling his dream.

"I'm scared of opening myself so fully to another person, Severus. I'm scared of trusting someone like that, of the uncertainty it brings. I wonder if I'm able to do that. To put my life and love into the hands of another person and trust them not to tear it apart. I mean, I trust you, I do, I don't for one second think that you would purposefully do that…but I don't know for sure, do I? I can't see what's going on in your mind, I just don't know…I've never said that before, you know, that I don't know. This sort of knowledge is new to me; it's something that has to be experienced, something that can't be read in a book. But I want to learn, start over, with you…" She broke off here, amazed that she just said what she did, that she admitted her weakness and admitted that she couldn't do anything about said weakness but live and trust and love.

* * *

A different tsunami spread over him this time. One that was less tingly and more calming, like aloe vera. He felt relief, relief that his Hermione was just as vulnerable at he was. And he felt something much more profound than that, he felt awed by her speech, awed and honoured that she would bestow so much love upon him, give him her heart and trust him not to break it. His instant reaction was to throw it back at her, figuring that if he did it now, then it would save them heartbreak and pain later…but he didn't, he felt that if Hermione was taking this chance then the least he could do was take the chance too. 

He heard her speak again, heard her sweet voice flood through him, calming and arousing him at the same time. "But I _want_ to learn this Severus, I want to learn how to love like this, I want to learn what's going through your mind, I want to learn how we can both connect with each other. Because I love you. I feel something deep inside me that swells up whenever we're near each other, or talk to each other, or even whenever I hear your name. And this something makes me feel so good, and it makes me want to make you feel good too. I want to please you, to make you happy, and this interdependency…well, it scares and excites me at the same time. But I'm willing to give it a go because I know, I just know that it will be worth it." she finished there, and Severus saw something in her eyes then, he saw this rush of emotion that he realised even she couldn't express. He felt those same emotions rushing through him too, making him feel everything good that he had denied himself. Things that he didn't let himself feel because he shouldn't, not after what he had done.

But she had forgiven him; had gone deep into him, pulled out the guilt he felt and smashed it into such small pieces that he wouldn't get the chance to feel it again. He was eternally grateful to her. He didn't have to see the Potter's eyes, open and vacant anymore, the mauled bodies of muggles he had raped at the revels would no longer trouble his dreams, his nights were no haunted with death and Voldemort and pure, unadulterated fear.

He had told her what he had done, had expressed to her exactly what sort of a man he was, but she wasn't disgusted. There was one terrifying hour when she had left the room and had gone out to the garden. He had let her, had given her time, but then he couldn't bear it anymore. He had gone out to the lavender garden and had seen her, her perfect frame sitting on a white bench, her shoulders shaking. He knew then that this was it and she couldn't accept him. She was too disgusted with him to welcome him into her arms and into her body again.

After walking around to the front of the bench, he had dropped to his knees and had held her hands while she cried, wondering when she would flinch, wondering when she would realise that he was touching her. But it never came, she slid off the bench and leant into his chest, sobbing harder now, confusing him. Why? Why would she press herself like this into him when she was crying because of him? Nevertheless he had held her as she cried, relished these last moments with her. Finally after calming down, she looked at him with red-rimmed eyes and said, "I'm sorry."

"No, Hermione, don't apologise, I deserve it, go, leave me, I understand, what I did…it's no wonder you don't want me anymore." She had looked at him then, had given him that look of hers that was so trusting and innocent and pure, that he started crying too. Silently at first, but then in great wracking sobs, leaning into her shoulder and burying himself in her hair. She had held him, held him while the iron bench had cut into her back and the gravel was pressing into her thighs. She stroked his back and made soothing sounds and calmed him down.

They sat there for what seemed like hours, their bodies entwined, Severus unsure what she would do. When he finally started to stir, she stroked his hair again while she spoke. "I'm sorry that you had to go through that Severus, I'm sorry that you were possessed by that evil man. I'm sorry that no one was there for you before. But I'm here now, I know that you are a good man, look at what you did during the war," he started to protest here, but she quickly carried on. "Yes, I know, you felt you had to, but you didn't, you did it out of your own free will, you risked your life countless times and you bore such pain. I'm so proud and grateful to you. I want to be with you, I'm not disgusted by you. I cried for your loss, for what you couldn't have until now. Let me give it to you, let me hold you."

* * *

"I love you Hermione. I love you so much, it hurts. Wow, there's a cliché, I never thought I would say that, not after I read all those romance novels while I…" She raised her eyebrows at the thought of him wanking off to such texts, but he quickly recovered her attention to less embarrassing thoughts. 

"I just, I want you. I don't know what's going to happen either, but I trust you to lead me somewhere good. And I want you, I want all of you; your mind, your body, everything. You are perfect to me and I can't for the life of me think why you want me, but I know you do. And…I think that's all that matters, that there is this mutual want. After all, we have no children, no other responsibilities. But I would, you know, I would shoulder whatever you asked of me, so long as you are happy...Hermione, I need you to tell me if you aren't happy, if this isn't enough. I promise that I will cope, but I couldn't stand it if you weren't fulfilled." She didn't protest here, she accepted his love and his need to see her happy and so he ploughed on, "Hermione, I think…I think I've finally found a way of being happy and I am so, so grateful to you for making me feel like this, for being the person who made the impossible come true.

"When I was young and naïve, I had all these hopes and dreams that have steadily been destroyed, bit by bit, but you've preserved this one…you've, oh God, I don't know how to say this without sounding like a complete and utter moron, but I know that if I met the fifteen year old me today, and told him all I've done, he would know that going through all the shit I've been through is worth going through, just to get the chance to be able to hold you like I'm holding you now.

"I really don't know how I could ever, ever pay you back Hermione. Thank you." He kissed her forehead. "Thank you." He kissed her chin. "Thank you, Thank you." He kissed both her cheeks. "Thank you."

He looked into her eyes and grasped her fingers and leaned in to kiss her mouth. He found it open and welcoming, tasting of tears and Hermione. She had been crying silent tears, of joy, he guessed – no, he _knew_. He knew from the way she looked at him and the way she moulded herself to him. The way she pulled him on top of her and opened her legs to him. The way she had opened herself to him so fully and openly. It bought tears to his and awe into his heart, that this being could be so…_good_. "Severus, I love you, thank you. Make love to me." She had never asked him this before, never to make love.

He did so gladly, kissing her, meshing their very beings together before sliding a hand down her body, caressing her glorious skin. She moaned with pleasure.

He went to suckle her neck, sucking and biting, leaving a mark, a love bite. He had never marked her like this before, never thinking that she could belong to him like this. But now she did, and he felt so protective of her, wanting to keep her safe from all harm, never letting her get hurt. But deep inside he knew that she had to, that they had to hurt each other and learn, move on, grow.

That night their souls and bodies melted together, becoming one form, one being, one mind.

* * *

She was lying on her back, exhausted from their love making with her eyes closed and her breathing steady. He was on his side, one hand propping his head up and the other stroking her curls. From time to time, he planted butterfly kisses on her neck and jaw, just happy to have her there. To have her love him and to love her back. Yes, Severus Snape was happy. Severus Snape was also intense, and when Severus Snape had something he liked, he grabbed hold of it and never let go. 

"Hermione?"

"Yes, my love?"

"Marry me?"

* * *

Authors Notes: Thanks go to SWR and WickedlyWanton, my wonderful betas and to Silverhair Theory, Sannikex, Antonia and Sophy for their wonderful advice. 

The title of this piece has been nicked off Placebo (the band) - but I can assure you that the story was written before said theft occurred.


End file.
